


The Quartermaster

by LawrenceKinden



Category: Original Work
Genre: Bare Bottom, Elf, Gen, Halfling, OTK, Orc, Pixie - Freeform, Quartermaster, Spanking, aven, belt, bent over, hand, leonin, rhox, spank, tanooki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-29 01:45:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14462409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LawrenceKinden/pseuds/LawrenceKinden
Summary: [Story Depicts Spanking]





	The Quartermaster

Martha Minnow, the quartermaster, sat upon the roof of her wagon, mending the torn seat of a pair of pants by the light of the lantern at her side and the moon high above. They were running low on lamp oil, but they were also headed back to Fort Kettle after this dungeon run, and she had determined there was enough to get by.

She could have sat down by the campfire where dinner was kept warm in the pot oven, but from there she’d not see her returning adventurers until they were upon her. They were late, and she was eager to see some sign of their return. Frequently, she looked up from her work and set her gaze into the darkness in the direction of Red Downs Catacombs. It was a common place for new adventurers to get their first real dungeon run. For all its dangers, it was relatively safe. But her group was late, and she was beginning to worry.

Some time later, when she’d moved on to darning socks, the quartermaster caught the light of a lantern, like a star fallen to earth and making its slow, sure way to her camp. The quartermaster scrambled down off the wagon. It wouldn’t do to have them thinking she’d been worried about them. Young adventures could be awfully thin-skinned. She stoked the fire, made sure dinner was ready, and awaited their return.

Brynhildr Armbuster stomped into camp first. She was a large girl: forearms like tree branches, hips like ocean swells, torso like a trunk. Daughter of an Orcish Shaman and Rhoxodon Paladin, Brynhildr was the warrior of the group. Her orc/rhox skin was thick as armor, her horned fists and hooved feet as good as weapons, her jutting muzzle and nasal horn gave her a bestial appearance as intimidating as her weapon-festooned battle harness.

Brynhildr tossed her war hammer to the ground behind the log serving as a bench. She let drop the lamp she carried in her other hand so the flame extinguished and one of the glass panels cracked.

“Dinner,” Brynhildr demanded.

Martha looked at the large girl, stunned. Though Brynhildr’s parentage made her the very image of a thick-skulled, ill-mannered, blood-thirsty marauder, the girl had never been anything but polite to Martha.

“What happened? Where are the others?”

Brynhildr grunted sourly. “They’ll be along. I’m starved.”

Martha collected Brynhildr’s large bowl and spoon before opening the pot oven and ladling a portion of the thick stew. Brynhildr was the largest girl in the group and ate nearly three times as much as the others. Her bowl was like a salad bowl in Martha’s hands, but when she handed it to Brynhildr, the warrior took it in one hand and it looked small.

“Bryn, what happened?” Martha pressed.

“Mmph.” Brynhildr grunted through her food. After swallowing, she stirred at her stew and said, “Ask the sneak.”

“Sakura? Is she injured?”

“Hah. Like she’d ever get close enough to the action for that. No, she nearly got the rest of us killed.”

The sound of exhausted footsteps alerted Martha to the arrival of two others of their group. Lindal Willowglimmer was a short, slight, pale girl, daughter of an Elfish High Sorcerer and Pixie Grand Magician. She leaned heavily upon Tabitha Gale, daughter of a Leonin White Monk and Aven Holy Chorister. Tabitha was using her grey-speckled aven wings for balance as, though Lindal was a slight girl, Tabitha wasn’t up to the task of carrying her.

Both looked worse for the wear. They sat with a dejected thump upon the log. Lindal loosened her green and gold tie before seeming to collapse within her mage robes. Tabitha sighed and hid her face in her paws.

Martha knew a defeated adventuring party when she saw one. Though the party she’d served for years before this one had known few failures in her time with them, when they had failed, they had come back looking much like this.

She served Lindal a mixture of chopped apples, raisins, nuts, and a rare bit of chocolate sauce. As an elf/pixie, she was a vegetarian and couldn’t eat the stew. Tabitha got a bowl of the same stew Brynhildr was busily consuming, though her bowl was significantly smaller.

“Tell me what happened,” Martha tried again.

Lindal accepted the bowl and picked at it fitfully. Tabitha ignored the stew Martha proffered and cried silently into her paws.

“We failed, and it was Sakura’s fault,” Brynhildr said. “She was eager to rush ahead, too impatient to search for traps. The treasure was before us and instead of taking her time, she hurried. The room collapsed. The treasure was destroyed.”

The first adventure of Red Downs Catacombs was designed for the adventuring parties of Fort Kettle to test their mettle, their teamwork, their skills, powers, and abilities. And it was designed to give them an early victory. Rare was it that a party returned without the symbolic Rat’s Tail, a sign they were ready to take on actual missions for Fort Kettle.

Martha looked at Lindal and Tabitha but they were focused inward.

“Mother Minnow,” Brynhildr drew the quartermaster’s attention back to her. “As leader of this party, I demand you punish the little sneak.”

Martha was at once amused and shocked. Amused at the name the party had given her, Mother rather than Martha. She really wasn’t old enough to be their mother. She wasn’t that much older than them, but before this she had served with an adventuring party of great renown. It was how she’d gotten her experience as a field quartermaster. It was why they called her ‘Mother’. But never in her experience with her first party had she had to punish a member of that party. Ostensibly, it was the job of the quartermaster to adjudicate disputes, but it had never come up. She knew, of course, that she had the authority, and that the traditional punishment among parties as young as this was corporal.

Martha bit her tongue.

“If she’s not too coward to face it, that is,” Brynhildr growled and went back to her meal.

Martha took a deep breath and stood up. She looked around camp, at the campfire and pot oven, at her wagon and it’s neatly stored supplies, and at the shadows deepened by her proximity to the fire. Though Martha could neither see nor hear Sakura, she was certain the thief with a Halfling Burglar and Tanooki Illusionist was out there, watching them, listening to them, her stomach rumbly with hunger.

“Sakura Knotwise,” Martha said, not raising her voice, but speaking with an authority that carried. “Come here. Now.”

Head down, feet shuffling, the short, stout thief came into the light, her rugged leathers dirt stained, her tri-corner hat battered. She looked as dejected as the others, and her raccoon-pointed face bore the tracks of tears.

“It wasn’t all my fault, Mother,” Sakura said.

“Bah!” Brynhildr waved away Sakura’s words.

Martha raised a hand for silence and was surprised when it was granted. “Sakura, is it true you set off the trap in the treasure room?”

Sakura had the delicate features and fine fur of a raccoon and the stout body of a halfling. When she hunched in on herself and hung her head, she looked like a small child caught in mischief. She nodded silently.

Martha looked at the other girls. Brynhildr smiled with self-satisfaction; Lindal sucked at her lips apprehensively; Tabitha looked about to say something but sighed and looked away.

“Sakura, Brynhildr’s request for punishment is well-founded and, though it pains me, the punishment for such an egregious offense against not only your party but your role of thief, requires a spanking at the least, ejection from the party at the most. Do you wish to resign your position?”

Sakura swallowed hard and shook her head. “No, Mother Minnow. But…” She flickered her gaze to Tabitha.

Martha waited.

Sakura looked down and toed the dirt with her boot, sniffling piteously.

“Very well.” Martha sighed.

Martha stood, unbuckled her belt and drew it though the loops of her dress.

Sakura was a short and stout girl, and Martha didn’t think she’d go comfortably over her knee like her little sibs did, so while she looped the belt with one hand, she walked to Sakura and took her by the shoulder with her other. She pulled the reluctant thief to the end of the wagon where she let down the gate.

Though Martha was intimately familiar with spankings, having received several growing up at home and in adventuring school, her only experience in giving spankings was with her little sibs and cousins back home. She’d never spanked one of her adventurers. Sakura wasn’t that much younger than her, and it felt both odd and nerve-wracking to prepare to do so now.

Martha took a deep breath.

“Sakura, you can object if you think you’re being punished unfairly.

Sakura looked up, bit her lip, then looked down and shook her head.

“All right then. Bare your bottom, Sakura, and bend over the gate.”

Sakura shuffled her feet and fumbled her buttons.

Martha folded her belt. Against her own bottom, Martha knew it would be a fearsome implement, but against the firm bottom of a halfling padded with tanooki fur, it would be appropriately impactful.

Sakura was still fumbling at the buttons, and Martha found herself losing patience.

“Tch. Enough dawdling.”

Martha knelt beside the short, young woman and efficiently undid her buttons, pulled off her long jacket, and undid her suspenders. She turned Sakura around to undo the button over her fluffy raccoon tail, and pulled her trousers down. Skaura’s underwear were a pair of travel-dirty white shorts frayed at the waist. These, too, Martha pulled down while making a mental note to do laundry soon. Finally, Martha pushed Sakura to the wagon gate and made her bend over.

“I’m sorry, Mother Minnow. Really, I am. But Tabby—“

“Enough of that,” Martha said. “We can talk about it after.” She took up her belt again, folded it over, and got a good grip. She stood to Sakura’s left and put her left hand on Skaura’s waist. She looked at the rest of the adventuring party, still sitting around the camp fire, dinner in hand, staring at her in wide-eyed awe. Even Brynhilder, who had demanded this course of action, seemed surprised at Martha’s efficiency.

“All right, you three. If Sakura is to be spanked, you need to stand witness.” She gestured with the belt to a spot behind Sakura. “You can’t sit off to the side like that.”

Tabitha set aside her bowl and stood, using her large wings to balance, helping Lindal to her feet as well. Brynhildr dropped her bowl carelessly to the ground. Stew slopped over the sides. Martha restrained herself from wincing, from scolding the girl for wasting food. It wouldn’t do to lose focus now. The three girls stood where Martha had indicated, far enough back to be out of the way, but close enough to bear witness.

Martha turned her attention to the halfling/tanooki. The girl was still bent over the gate of the wagon, naked from the waist down. Her plump bottom and thick thighs were covered with a fine, dark fur and her raccoon tail was tucked firmly between her legs. Martha knew to strike the girl’s tail at its base would be more harmful than punishing, so with her left hand she grabbed it and held it out of the way. Sakura moaned and squirmed but didn’t try to get up. Martha looked at the three witnesses, focusing for a moment on Brynhildr, looking for some hint of regret or hesitance. Instead, the large fighter looked grimly satisfied.

Martha rolled her right shoulder, then slapped the belt against her own leg. It didn’t hurt through her thick skirts but it was enough to sting.

Martha knew Sakura’s hide was thick, but even so she swung the belt with hesitance, and the first spank was more a love-tap. Sakura flinched from the blow but didn’t cry out. Martha spanked the girl again, hard, the crack of belt on flesh filling her ears. She clenched her teeth as Sakura yelped. Martha had never spanked her own sibs with anything other than her hand, so using the belt felt harsh. Even so, as she spanked the little thief again, and again, and again, Sakura’s reactions, though piteous, weren’t those of a child unfairly beaten, but a penitent being chastised. Her, little bare feet kicked as she squirmed side to side, her generous bottom bounced with each stroke of the belt. She yipped and cried and pounded her fists on the floor of the wagon. Under the belt, Sakura’s bottom turned a steady crimson, the bright shade of the well-spanked. Soon the intermittent cries became a long, sustained wail and between one spank and the next, she drew a ragged breath and sobbed.

Martha took a deep breath, feeling her chest shudder, though she refused to cry. She let Sakura’s tail go and it fell limp to her legs. She set her belt on the wagon-gate and put a comforting hand on the girl’s back, rubbing gently.

Sakura’s sobs ebbed dramatically as Martha rubbed her back and soon she was swallowing hard and sniffling. Then she pushed herself up and Martha stood and took a step back. Sakura pushed off the wagon-gate and dropped to her feet. She turned to face Martha, both hands going to her backside, unashamed of her half-nudity, though the thick hair at her loins offered modesty of a sort.

“Thank you, Mother Minnow,” Sakura said, rubbing her bottom vigorously. “It won’t happen again. I promise.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Martha said.

Then Sakura hugged Martha firmly about the middle. Her head didn’t even come up to the underside of Martha’s breasts. It was like being hugged by a strong, furry child. Martha hugged her back, glad the little thief bore her no ill-will.

Martha looked up at the other three, Sakura’s fellow adventures, witness to her spanking. She focused on Tabitha in particular and saw the leonine/aven shift uncomfortably.

“Tabby. You were about to say something earlier. Do you want to say it now?”

The girl’s cat-ears lay back against her head and she looked away, hunching her shoulders.

“Tabitha.” Martha said firmly.

Sakura released Martha and backed up a step. “It’s okay, Mother Minnow. I…”

But Tabitha interrupted her. “It’s not okay, actually. It wasn’t all Sakura’s fault. I bear some responsibility as well. The reason Sakura hurried ahead was she knew I was drained of mana.”

“What?” Brynhildr growled, turning to face the winged girl.

“Easy,” said Martha, stepping forward.

“Why the hell were you depleted of mana?” Brynhildr demanded. “I told you—“

“Enough,” Martha said.

Brynhildr fell silent.

“It was, I suppose, and injudicious use of mana,” Tabitha said. “I should have done better. I’m sorry, Mother.” She turned to look at the others. “Really I am. I am as much to blame for our failure as anybody. She turned again to Martha. “Please, I should be next.”

Tabitha unbuckled her belt, unsnapped the top button of her pants at her waist, and undid the laces. She reached around to the small of her back and undid the button holding her pants over her cat tail. She slipped the pants down and let them fall to her paws so she could step out of them, leaving her bare from the waist down. She walked to the wagon-gate and braced her forearms upon the wagon floor, bending over, thrusting her bottom up. Though taller than Sakura, she was still shorter and lighter than Martha, allowing those great aven wings to lift her into the air. Like Sakura’s hide, Tabitha’s leonine parentage gave her thicker skin.

Martha cleared her throat uncomfortably, then took up the belt she’d lain upon the wagon-gate.

Sakura joined her fellow adventurers to stand witness without having bothered to redress. Martha looked at them for a moment. Lindal cried, tears flowing freely. Sakrua wiped away the few of hers remaining. Brynhildr didn’t look as confident or satisfied as she had before.

She waited a few moments in case one of them would object, but none did, so she took firm hold of the belt in her right hand and slapped it against her thigh, feeling it faintly.

Tabitha’s tail was long and thick, covered with a fine white fur, as was the rest of her body. Her bottom was where the fur was thinnest, gave way to pale pink skin. She had digitigrade legs, as most zoomorphs did.

“I can hold your tail, but you’ll have to keep your wings out of the way.”

“I know how to stand for a spanking, Mother,” Tabitha replied. Her voice was clam and serious, a mild rebuke.

“Of course.”

Daughter of a Leonin White Monk and Aven Holy Chorister, Tabitha’s household had been extraordinarily strict, and undoubtedly she was no stranger to spankings. Martha took hold of her tail as she had Sakura’s. Tabitha stretched her wings up and out as though sheltering them both, keeping them well away from her backside. Martha raised her hand and swung the belt. It struck with a sharp slap and Tabitha cried out then took a sharp, deep breath. Martha waited a moment for her to let it out before spanking her again. Tabitha managed stoicism, being a veteran of such chastisement. And as Martha continued, building up a slow, steady rhythm, the cleric girl’s shoulders began to shake with silent sobs and her pale backside grew steadily scarlet.

With each blow of the belt, Martha reminded herself this was more like a thorough hand spanking than the harsh thrashing it seemed, that not only could the gentle cleric take it, she would be furious if Martha went easy on her. Just like with her sibs and with Sakura, Martha spanked the girl until it seemed she’d had enough.

When she was done, Martha lay the belt aside and stepped back.

Tabitha took only a moment before pulling her wings to her back and pushing to her feet. She turned to Martha, clasping her hands just below her breasts. She took a shaky breath and swallowed and said, “Thank you, Mother Minnow, for spanking me. I promise to do better in the future.” She gave a half bow and when she straightened, she moved as though to rejoin her fellows, then hesitated.

“I know it’s not my place, but I wonder if… May I make a request?”

Martha cleared her throat and nodded.

“May I… may I have a hug, Mother?”

“Of course,” Martha said.

Tabitha embraced her fiercely, her wings wrapping about them, and for a few moments her stoicism broke and she cried freely into Martha’s shoulder. A few moments more, Tabitha took a breath, cleared her throat, and regained her composure. She folded her wings and took a step back.

A little ways away, Lindal sighed heavily. “I suppose I’m next, aren’t I?” Her voice was high and musical, like chimes in the wind. I looked at the daughter of an Elfish High Sorcerer and Pixie Grand Magician. She was slight of frame, her height quite nearly the mean between Sakura and Tabitha. Martha wanted to object, to have this over with, to not have to spanker another of her adventurers. But she knew that wouldn’t do.

Martha quirked her eyebrow. “Are you?”

“Tabby was out of mana because she’d used it all healing me. I uh… I suppose I was over reliant on area-of-effect spells. I was drawing all sorts of aggro from the monsters. If not for me, perhaps Tabby could have used her healing spells better. If Sakky’s at fault and Tabby’s at fault…” Lindal heaved a great sigh. “I suppose I’m at fault as well.”

Lindal stepped forward, undoing the belt that held her wizard robes cinched at her waist. But as she went to undo the green and gold stripped tie about her neck, her hands were shaking so badly she couldn’t get it done.

“Here,” said Tabitha, “let me help.” The leonine/aven loosened Lindal’s tie then helped pull the robes over Lindal’s head. Tabitha draped the robes over her arm and took several steps back, leaving Lindal in only a silky chemise, loose bloomers, and her boots.

“I… I don’t know if I can bend over for the boots,” Lindal said. “I’m afraid I may pass out.”

“I gotcha,” said Sakura, her voice only a little shaky. She came forward, knelt, and undid Lindals’ boots, then tugged them off.

Finally, Linda undid the tie at the waist of her bloomers and let them drop to the ground. Her pale skin, tinged faint green, shone even in the indirect light of the campfire. She ran her long-fingered hands through her dark green hair to push it out of her face, then looked at Martha with determination.

“I’m ready.” Her gaze flickered to the belt still on the wagon-gate. “But I don’t think I…”

Martha shook her head. “No. I shouldn’t think so. I won’t need that for your spanking.”

Lindal sighed, like wind in the trees, and her whole frame drooped. “Thank you.”

Martha sat on the edge of the wagon-gate and crooked her finger. Lindal came to her right side and lay over her lap without prompting. Though taller than Sakura, once over Martha’s lap neither her finger nor toe-tips touched the ground. Martha put one hand around Lindal’s waist, just over her hip, and the other square over her bottom.

She looked up at the other girls, focusing on Brynhildr. For a moment, the large girl tried to meet her gaze, then hunched her shoulders, put her hands awkwardly behind her back and looked away, swaying nervously.

Martha returned her focus to the girl over her lap, thin, pale, and waif-like. Lindal’s backside would not stand up under the onslaught of a thick belt, nor for that matter would she be able to endure the most thorough of spankings Martha had ever given her little sibs. She wished she had a switch. Though the thin implement bit like no other, it was easier to go lightly, to deliver a flurry of stings that were intense but not broad.

Martha spanked Lindal’s bare backside, her palm enough to strike both petite cheeks, and watched a green splotch bloom upon the pale surface. Lindal gasped and cried out and even that sounded like the sigh of trees in the wind.

Lindal would have squirmed off Martha’s lap had Martha not had a good hold of her about the waist. Martha realized she had spanked the girl too hard. That the mage-girl’s waif frame wasn’t up to the punishment even the youngest of Martha’s sibs could endure. So she adjusted and the next spank, though a playful smack to Martha, brought a satisfactory squeal from Lindal.

In that way, Martha traded between cheeks, smacking one then the other, watching the pale pixie/elf’s skin turn steadily green. Watching her little feet kick a frantic rhythm, her shoulders hunch and stretch, her hips wiggle to and fro. Martha spanked as the girl cried and gasped like a gentle brook, promising to do better.

Martha felt it for certain this time, a solid settling in her chest, that the punishment had been meted, the girl penitent, justice done. She stopped spanking and rubbed Lindal’s back in small, soothing circles while the girl cried herself out. Lindal didn’t try to control her reaction but let it flow from her chest and down her cheeks, sobbing hard. When her sobs were reduced to sniffles, Martha helped Lindal to her feet. Unlike Sakura and Tabitha, whose zoomorphic heritage covered them in fur and made modest their nudity, but for the bright green hair atop Lindal’s head and feathering her brow, she was smoothly hairless. Martha noted her labia were plump and her nipples stood hard against her thin camisole, dark green circles against the semi translucent material.

Lindal sniffled and wiped at her eyes, rimmed green with crying. She put her hands upon Martha’s shoulders, leaned forward, and kissed her gently upon the mouth.

“Thank you, Mother Minnow.”

Rubbing her bare bottom gently, Lindal turned and rejoined the others.

Martha looked at Brynhildr. The orc/rhox fighter-girl, seven feet tall of thick muscle and dense hide, bony protrusions and wicked horn, confidence and bluster, refused to meet her gaze.

“Brynhildr,” Martha said, tone stern. “I think you have something you want to say to me.”

Brynhildr shrugged and shook her head. “I… No, ma’am.”

“What was that?”

“I… I don’t.”

“Brynhildr, it is your job to lead this party. You have a strategic mind and a tactical aptitude. Every report from the Adventurer’s Academy deemed you a natural leader. And now you can’t meet the gaze of a quartermaster.”

Brynhildr cleared her throat, a noise like a landslide. “I…”

“Do you mean to tell me you stomped into camp, demanded one of your own punished, and after each of them has admitted to a failure, you can’t admit you’re guilty of one yourself? I do not blame you for their mistakes. I do blame you for leaving them behind. I blame you for behaving now like a coward and a bully. I blame you for not taking responsibility. Your father would be ashamed.”

Martha could see the tight lips, quivering chin, and teary eyes that told her she was getting through to the warrior. But she wasn’t finished. Brynhildr need to break before the lesson was learned, and Martha had one more blow to land.

“Your mother would be proud.”

Brynhildr put her hands behind her back and Martha knew they were over her bottom, like a naughty child. “I’ve never failed before,” Brynhildr said, voice trembling. She took a few steps forward. “It’s embarrassing. It’s more than I can face.” She took a deep breath. “I told Sakura to wait and she didn’t, but that’s because she wanted to end the quest quickly, because we were ragged. And that’s my fault. Tabitha had exhausted her mana, but that’s because we were injured, because I hesitated in my orders. That’s my fault. Lindal cast far too many area-of-effect spells, drawing the ire of the monsters, requiring further healing, and that’s because I let my enthusiasm get the better of me, fought without sense.”

Brynhildr took the last couple steps until she was right in front of Martha Minnow, head bowed, shoulders hunched. Small despite her size. Tears tracked down her grey-ish brown cheeks. She shrugged out of her battle harness, pulled off her gauntlets, unbuckled her breastplate, kirtle, and greaves, all of which she tossed aside. She shucked out of her padded under-armor, letting it drop to her hooves so she could step out of it kick it over with the rest.

“My fault. None of them are to blame. I should have seen that from the outset. This is entirely my fault.”

Brynhildr was tall and broad-shouldered. Her rhox hooves were scuffed and dirty, but well-maintained. Her hide had the thickness of any rhox but was also covered symmetrical bony plates and protrusions of an orc, at her knuckles, shoulders and hips. Despite her girth, her muscles were well-toned, curving thickly and firmly. The hair at her chest was thick and black, curving around the underside of her breasts and stretching down to her loins, almost as thickly as Sakura’s. It wrapped in a whorl around either black nipple. Her face was the jutted muzzle of a rhino with a thick curved horn upon her nose and a pair of orcish tusks curving from her lower jaw over her upper lip.

Now she’d admitted her wrong-doing Brynhildr stood upright and confident again, expression firm. Martha would have thought her fearsome had she not known the girl for months now. She might have been afraid to chastise her if not for that familiarity, if not for the fact that Brynhildr turned to face the other three girls and dropped to her knees, supplicant. She bowed forward, pressing her head to the ground and exposing her naked backside to Martha.

“I beg your forgiveness, my friends. I shouldn’t have behaved with the cowardice of a common orc. It will not ever happen again, I promise you.” She took a deep shuddering breath through her tears. “Mother Minnow, please, I know my hide is thick, but I trust in your ability to ensure I am thoroughly spanked.”

Martha considered for a moment.

“Wait here. I’ll be right back.” She hopped up into the wagon bed, made her way through the supplies to the back where her cot was setup. Just beside it was a small chest. She withdrew a key from around her neck and opened the chest. There were four magical items inside. One for each of them. A gift for when they completed their first dungeon. She’d meant to gift them in the morning. But now…

For Sakura a glove of nimble fingers. For Tabitha an amulet of protection. For Lindal a ring of memory. And for Brynhildr a belt of strength. Each item held only a minor enchantment.

Martha withdrew the belt of strength. It was thicker and wider than her own belt and studded with copper. It was sized for a girl of Brynhildr’s girth and though its enchantment was minor, it was a heavy piece. Martha unfurled the belt then folded it in two. She could feel the enchantment overcome her, granting her a bit of extra strength. She nodded to herself as she reemerged from the wagon and dropped to the ground.

“Are you ready?” Martha asked.

“Yes, Mother.”

Martha slapped the belt against her own thigh and winced at its impact, certain she’d bruised herself with those copper studs. She took a moment to look at the three other girls standing silent witness. Grim-faced with hints of sympathy. Martha nodded again, lifted the belt, and spanked the grey-brown hide of Brynhildr’s naked bottom. She felt a surge in her muscles, a strength in her arm, and the belt fell with a solid whack.

Brynhildr grunted, shifting forward.

Martha raised the belt again as Brynhildr moved back into position.

Martha spanked her again and Brynhildr gasped. Again and again, Martha spanked the big girl with the belt of strength, drawing faint splotches from even that thick hide, eliciting grunts and gasps, and soon she could see the girl’s shoulders shake. Martha knew, despite Brynhildr’s thick hide and large size, between her determination and the studded magical belt, she was delivering a real spanking to the fighter girl.

Martha knew this spanking, more so than the other three, was necessary. Brynhildr knew she was culpable, had admitted it out loud, had asked for forgiveness. And Martha knew the only way she’d know she’d been forgiven, was after a long, thorough spanking. Which Martha resolved to give. She timed her breathing with each spank of the leather.

Breathe in, lift up.

Swing down, breathe out.

Smack.

In less time than Martha would have guessed, Brynhildr’s rigid pose broke down. She turned her head to the side and rested her cheek on the ground, tears flowing freely, breath coming shakily. Her shoulders heaved though her sobs were strangled near to silence. Brynhildr’s chest fell to the ground, her arms no longer able to hold her up. And when her knees looked shaken and looked about to slip, when the thick hide of her bare bottom showed a crimson blush, dark at the edges, Martha knew, certain as ever she’d been, the proper spanking had been doled.

With a sigh, Martha tossed the belt of strength next to her own upon the wagon-gate, shoulder sore, brow sweaty. She took a deep breath and pushed the bits of hair that had escaped her braid back off her face. She dropped onto the wagon-gate with a whump and cleared her throat. It pained her to see her adventurers so, and before she realized it, hot tears slid her flushed cheeks. She didn’t other wiping them away. The other girls had already seen.

Soon Sakura, Tabitha, and Lindal stood around Brynhildr, rubbing her shoulder, whispering to her, then helping her to her hooves. Brynhildr embraced them, each in turn, nuzzling them gently atop their heads with her great, horned snout, kneeling for Sakura. Then she turned to Martha and spread her arms.

Martha stood and let those, strong, thick arms envelop her, to press her against Brynhildr’s large, firm breasts. She tucked her head under Brynhildr’s chin and hugged her back.

“Thank you, Mother,” Brynhildr whispered in her deep voice, chest rumbling against Martha’s. When they released each other, Brynhildr took a step back and surreptitiously rubbed at her bottom.

Sakura cleared her throat gently, then raised her hand, like a schoolgirl. “Mother, do you suppose we could have dinner now?”

Martha laughed suddenly, unexpected, and whatever tension there may have been between them dissolved into giggles.

Dinner was still good. The stew was still hot. Martha ladled each of them a portion but for Lindal whose vegetables were still fresh. They ate around the campfire in comfortable quiet, though only Martha’s seat was comfortable. An hour gone, when dinner was done and everyone was sleepy-eyed, Martha sent them to their tents for bed and clambered into the wagon for her own.

~*~

Chilly dew-scent alerted Martha to coming dawn. She had resolved to encourage her adventures to retry Red Downs Catacombs, to not return to Fort Kettle without the Rat’s Tail. They’d need a hearty breakfast of course and she knew just what to make. Something with a good, strong smell to rouse them, with enough body to fortify them, with…

“I don’t know about the rest of you, but I won’t disappoint Mother Minnow. The dungeon should have reset by now. I’m going back in there.” It was Brynhildr, her deep voice pitched low.

Martha lay still in her cot while the girls made ready.


End file.
